


love letters lost

by lucyrne (theungenue)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Benign deception, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, F/M, Innuendo, Love Letters, Mid-Canon, Miscommunication, Protective Siblings, Romantic Comedy, Templar Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/pseuds/lucyrne
Summary: When Carver struggles to write a love letter to Merrill, Bethany shares some perfectly platonic letters from Varric to give him inspiration. Instead of learning anything about letter writing, Carver realizes that Varric is secretly in love with his twin sister.





	1. Carver

**Author's Note:**

> My first Dragon Age fic! While the focus at the start is more Varric/Bethany, I promise this will come back around to Carver/Merrill. It will be 4 chapters long, each focusing on Carver, Bethany, Varric, and Merrill respectively.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of my silly romantic comedy in the comments. Enjoy!

> _~~My dear~~ Merrill,_
> 
> _I apologize for waiting so long to write. ~~It’s been~~ ~~I just can’t think of the~~_
> 
> ~~_Truthfully, I’ve wanted_~~ ~~_I’ve only just gathered the courage_ ~~
> 
> _Turns out Starkhaven isn’t that stark a place after all. Everything glitters here. It makes me homesick for the piss-filled gutters of Kirkwall, or even the dog shit-littered fields of Lothering. Come to think of it, maybe I’ve just never lived anywhere nice before._
> 
> _I’m sure you would enjoy the city. ~~You’d get lost~~ ~~The alienage here is~~ I wish we’d get lost here together, because interesting things always happen around you. _
> 
> _Truth is Merrill, I’m missing you a lot. I know we didn’t see much of each other after I joined up with the Templars, but--_

“My, my, what are you up to?”

Carver started in his seat at the sound of his twin sister’s voice, nearly snapping his quill in two. Bethany stood behind him and looked at the letter from over his shoulder.

“My dear Merrill,” Bethany read aloud, dropping her voice to as low a baritone she could muster.

Carver swiped the letter off the table, crumpled it in his hand, and tossed it in the bin. No matter, it was a shit letter anyways. “It doesn’t say that.”

“Well you should scratch it out harder if you don’t want it read.”

“Well you should knock before you enter someone’s room!”

Sebastian had been generous enough to give the Hawke twins their own private quarters in his Starkhaven palace--for a time at least. Carver’s bedroom alone was larger than the entire hovel he once shared with Uncle Gamlen, his mother, and his two siblings in Lowtown. Large windows featured a view of the shining city, bathed in marble and shimmering gold. His bed even had four entire posters! Carver had never felt more waited upon in his life.

Of course, having a bigger room and more privacy hardly mattered when your twin waltzed into your quarters at will.

Bethany retrieved the discarded letter and began to gingerly smooth it out. “Not going well, is it? If you need help writing love letters, perhaps you should ask a professional,” she said.

“Who--Varric? I’d rather kiss Andraste’s corpse full on the mouth than ask him for advice. If Varric had his way, my letters would be nothing but exaggeration, smut, and obscure inside jokes.” If there was one thing Carver hated about Varric’s books, it was that they were both trashy enough to make him feel like a prudish choir boy and high brow enough to make him feel simple.

“That’s not true,” Bethany said with a small laugh. “What if I showed you some of his letters? You can get some inspiration for writing adorable letters to Merrill without having to ask Varric for anything.”

Before Carver had a chance to reject that offer, Bethany picked up her skirts and hurried through the adjoining door between their suites. These days, Bethany had ditched her dingy mage robes for a long gown that cinched at the waist and fluttered as she walked. It was the kind of thing their mother would’ve worn when she was a young Kirkwall noble. The comparisons between Leandra and his twin sister were getting harder to ignore--especially now that Bethany wore their mother’s old family ring.

Bethany emerged from her room with a handful of papers, worn from being unfolded with multiple readings. She slapped them on Carver’s desk with a triumphant smile.

“Look at this one. It’s the one where he talks about attending a ball in Orlais! Oh, and in this one Varric almost loses a hand fighting a bear. I think you’d rather like that story.”

With a grumble, he started with the Orlais letter. Carver’s eyes glazed over as he skimmed names he didn’t recognize, places he had never heard of, and dress descriptions he didn’t care about. He didn’t see how any of this drivel would make writing to Merrill any easier.

Just as Carver was preparing an excuse to get Bethany to give up this love letter business, he caught sight of an interesting sentence.

> _Even the stars themselves would rearrange for you._

Reading that line felt like a prick of static stinging his hand. Carver frowned and reread the entire passage more closely. Surely he was reading it wrong. Surely...  

> _In Orlais, power and appearance is everything. When the empress walks in, everyone watches and moves with her, like the moon shifting the tides. It’s a sight to behold, sure, but there’s an current of deceit bubbling underneath. No one is as as powerful as they think they are, or as beautiful._
> 
> _Sunshine, if you stepped foot in that ball, it would be like dropping the sun in the middle of dozens of moons. Everyone would shift in time to your step. Even the stars themselves would rearrange for you._
> 
> _Some countess would’ve poisoned your drink out of jealousy, but that’s Orlais in a nutshell._

In context, the line made Carver feel even more uncomfortable. It sounded to him like Varric spent an entire bloody ball, surrounded by the most beautiful and fashionable people in Thedas, thinking of Bethany and her beauty. Of course he wasn’t wrong that Bethany was beautiful--it ran in the family--but wasn’t it strange for him to _think_ about it so much?

Carver tried to read the letter about the bear, but the words swam before his eyes. All he could think about was Varric calling Bethany ‘Sunshine’ while he was relegated to ‘Junior,’ Varric rushing to her side whenever a Lowtown scuffle went awry, Varric visiting Bethany at the Circle when he couldn’t give a flipping fart about Carver in the Gallows.

All this time, he simply chalked it up to being everyone’s third favorite Hawke. It never occurred to Carver that there was something else behind Varric’s gentle teasing and friendly visits. Something _romantic._

Varric Tethras. Varric the dwarf. The dwarf who was Garrett’s friend. The dwarf specifically befriended by Garrett. Garrett’s dwarf. That Varric Tethras?

Had feelings for _Bethany_?

His eyes snagged another questionable line. 

> _I wasn’t about to stand there and allow that damned bear to tear off my index finger--one of my most important limbs for handling curvaceous and supple women. I speak, of course, of Bianca, who requires a tender, yet stimulating touch on her trigger._

Carver picked up the letter from the table and held it close to his face, squinting hard. To his chagrin, the letter’s contents didn’t become less suggestive upon a closer look.

“Is something wrong with your eyes?” Bethany asked.

Carver lowered the letter back onto the table and cleared his throat. “How many letters do you exchange with Varric?”

She shrugged. “He sends me one, I write back the same day. It takes about a fortnight to receive a reply.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Varric is very prolific.”

“So are you.”

“And what of it?” Bethany silently read more of Carver’s crumpled letter. “I’m not sure how I’ve never noticed it before, but your handwriting is similar to Varric’s. It’s those thick fingers, I expect.”

Carver gripped the desk and shuddered.

“What is the matter with you?” she asked.

He pushed the papers away like a spoiled meal. There was no way he could read any more--especially with Bethany breathing down his neck. “Nothing, nothing. I think I need a drink. Sebastian must keep alcohol somewhere in this blasted place.” Starkhaven might be pretty, but getting a drink here was difficult, and _paying_ for one was a nightmare.

Bethany frowned as she collected her letters. “I was just trying to help,” she muttered on her way out.

Later that night, when Carver had already drank half a bottle of Chantry wine and was looking to finish the rest, he tried to make sense of what Bethany showed him. He didn’t believe his sister would share her correspondence so readily if she and Varric had a secret romance, or even if she had a true inkling of their subtext. Was she oblivious? Did she pretend not to notice to preserve her friendship with Varric? Or did she simply not care?

Since Garrett was too busy traipsing about Thedas, doing whatever it was Champions do, Carver had to be the one to look out for Bethany. If she wouldn’t tell Varric to back off, he would do it. It was his duty. Maker only knew that between Ostragar and the Templars, Carver had systematically failed or given up in every other duty put to him.

Carver would write to Varric and inform him that he _knew_ about his sneaky little innuendos. That knowledge alone should scare the dwarf off.

For the second time, he put pen to paper. 

> _Varric,_
> 
> _I have read some of the letters you are sending my twin sister, and I am_

Carver then wrote a dense paragraph of invective, describing the depths of his discomfort and the many things he might do to someone who hurt Bethany, and then crossed it all out with his quill--but lightly enough to remain legible. 

> _not pleased._

He paused. As his letter currently read, it sounded like Carver was snooping in Bethany’s mail.

> _To be clear, Bethany showed these letters to me of her own volition._

Now it sounded like Bethany was betraying Varric’s confidence. Maker, why was writing so hard?

> _But only because she thought it might help me learn to write better letters to ~~Mer~~ old friends back in Kirkwall. _
> 
> _You have been a friend to us for a long time. I’m disappointed that you might use that friendship to send suggestive letters to my sister, who trusts you. I had thought you a better man than that._  
> 
> _If you continue writing to Bethany, leave your dirty insinuations out of it._
> 
> _From_
> 
> _Carver_

Carver reread the letter and smiled at his handiwork. It was only vaguely threatening, yet the tone was strong. After receiving this, Varric would surely back down and quit weaving flirtations and innuendo into his letters.

The next morning, a slightly hungover Carver posted the letter so he could continue to puzzle over a more romantic one to write to Merrill. The world was right again, for a time.

* * *

Carver and Bethany strolled through the Starkhaven gardens together while on their way to visit the market before everything closed at sundown. Unlike Kirkwall, this city had a curfew. What the hell kind of city shut down at night? No wonder everyone prayed so much--they were too bored out of their minds to do anything else!

Before they left, a messenger caught up with them with heaving breaths. He had a letter--for Carver! Sent in an unmarked envelope from an unknown destination. The only person Carver could think of who would write to him under such conditions was Merrill. He had been banging his head against his desk every night trying to write her; what amazing luck would it be if she wrote him _first!_

Carver’s ignored Bethany’s light joking as he sped up to his room to read his new correspondence in secret, bolting his door as well as the one leading to his sister’s room. For something as momentous as this, he wanted complete privacy.

Once he sliced open the envelope and greedily unfolded the paper within, Carver’s hopes dropped all the way to the castle dungeon. It wasn’t from Merrill at all.

It was from Varric.

> _Junior,_
> 
> _I’m glad to hear from you after all these years. Sunshine has kept me updated on your predicament, and after receiving your letter, I’m pleased to observe that you haven’t changed. _
> 
> _It’s a good thing you reached out to me for advice on the art of letter writing. You write like a templar, which is to say you sound like you’re talking to your grandmother, whom you hate and is also already dead. Try to be less formal and dour. Do you want to know what makes writing sing? A voice! Personality! I know you have those things buried somewhere beneath all that muscle. Use them for a change._
> 
> _Vary your language, including the lengths of your sentences. When you wax poetic about Daisy’s many lovely virtues, you don’t want it to read like a list of demands._
> 
> _On the other hand, don’t try too hard to sound smart. Many critics claim that big words and complicated sentences are the pinnacle of literature, but if my sales are anything to go by, that isn’t true by a long shot. When people read, whether it’s a letter from a lover or a novel by a stranger, they want to feel a connection. They can’t do that if they don’t understand what the hell you’re saying._
> 
> _Daisy especially requires a straightforward approach. Just don’t confuse the girl and she’ll love whatever you churn out._
> 
> _I’ve got faith in you, Junior. When the two rocks knocking around inside that skull of yours actually touch each other, you can come up with some great ideas._
> 
> _One last thing before I leave you to your romance. Exchanging letters with your sister is a privilege I take seriously. It’s also a privilege that you can’t bestow or take away, as it has absolutely nothing to do with you whatsoever. With that in mind, all I ask is this: if Sunshine truly enjoys my letters, don’t spoil it for her._
> 
> _Send my regards to Choirboy and Daisy (whenever you grow the stones to actually write her)._
> 
> _Your friend,_
> 
> _Varric_

The vein running down Carver’s forehead and temple bulged. What in the Void was all this? Between the pages of unsolicited advice and attacks on Carver’s intelligence, the blasted dwarf barely mentioned his suggestive letter writing to Bethany. And when he _did_ address it, Varric essentially told Carver to back off. The nerve!

He scrawled a reply in an instant. It was written and shoved into a messenger’s hands so fast, Carver hardly remembered what he even wrote. Probably something about Varric taking advantage of Bethany’s kindness because he was a creepy old man who otherwise didn’t get any, or that the fact Varric didn’t talk about it meant he was hiding his true motives.

That messenger must have sprinted to Skyhold, because Varric’s response was swift.

When Carver opened the second letter a week later, he knew from the moment he saw Varric bluntly address him by name that it wasn’t all light-hearted jokes and writing advice.

> _Carver,_
> 
> _The reason I didn’t explain myself to you was not because I have anything to hide, but because it’s none of your damn business. Perhaps if I finally assuage your doubts, you can focus on your own love life and stay out of mine._
> 
> _I will never presume anything of Bethany or her letters. There’s no point denying that our correspondence is flirtatious, since it’s obvious enough for even someone as thick-headed as you are to pick up on. But whatever you think is going on has never evolved beyond teasing between two old friends._
> 
> _You keep bringing up my intentions, so chew on this last piece of writerly wisdom--You can control what you put on the page, but you can’t control what readers take away from it. You could write ‘I love you’ in giant letters, but if the audience doesn’t interpret those words the way you want them to, you’re shit out of luck. The only thing you can do is write something else and hope this time it sticks._
> 
> _Instead of trying to divine some hidden meaning from my dirty jokes, just ask your sister what she thinks. You’ll find she has the right of it._
> 
> _Varric_

The letter’s short signature was the literary equivalent of shutting a door in Carver’s face.

And yet, Varric’s final nugget of wisdom rang extremely true. Clearly, the dwarf wrote this intending to compel Carver to stop pestering him. Once Carver finished reading the letter, however, he was more convinced than ever that he was right.

Varric did harbor secret affection for Bethany--he had probably been in love with her for years. But he also understood boundaries and didn’t cross them uninvited. As uncomfortable as this business was, Carver could respect him for that.

Carver folded up the letter and stored it with his other letters in an old boot. Now that he knew Varric wasn’t trying to prey upon his sister, there was no longer any need to pry into their correspondence. The issue was settled.

* * *

Carver packed away his few belongings with energy and excitement. A caravan from Starkhaven was leaving in a few days for Kirkwall, and he would be going with them. He was going back to the shithole that he fondly called home, and best of all, Merrill would be waiting for him.

Well, he _hoped_ Merrill would be waiting for him. Carver put off sending the love letter he had been agonizing over for weeks, but then he suffered a flash of inspiration--why wait for the postman to decide his fate when he could just go to Kirkwall himself? The city was still recovering from the rebellion, but Aveline had things under control now. Starkhaven’s luster had long faded, and Carver would use any excuse to flee its walls forever.

Despite his excitement, Bethany was reticent when she heard the news. She flitted between their rooms like a fretful waif, exuding an aura of inner turmoil and anxiety without outwardly expressing why.

So Carver finally asked what was on her mind. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Bethany said, twisting their mother’s heavy Amell signet ring around her index finger, “about the future of our family.”

Carver groaned, “Why would you think of something so dreary.”

“Because it’s important, Carver! Because someone has to do it. Garrett certainly won’t.” Bethany wrapped her arms around her torso and cast a dark look out the window. Though it was a warm spring day, recent rain and misty skies sapped the Starkhaven palace of its vibrance.

“It’s always been different for you two,” she said in a low voice. “You’re not mages. No one’s ever had to take care of you. My whole life I’ve been foisted from one protector to another. The only time I really took control of my own fate was when I surrendered myself to the Circle, and even then you joined up with the Templars to keep an eye on me.”

“That’s not true,” Carver said. He tried stuffing an extra pair of trousers into his full leather knapsack, with no success. “Joining the Templars was more about sticking it to Garrett than protecting you.”

Somehow, that statement did little to reassure Bethany or lift her spirits. “I can’t live on Sebastian’s generosity forever. At one point I thought there might be a... _place_ for me in his household, but now that I’m certain there isn’t, I must look elsewhere.” Her brown eyes now found his, steeled with determination. “I’ve been writing the de Launcets.”

“What?” The clothes Carver was packing fell out of his slack hands. “Why would you possibly write to them?”

Bethany resumed twisting their mother’s ring. “Their son Emile is still alive. He’s single, and well...”

Carver’s entire face burned scarlet. “You aren’t suggesting that you _marry_ that loon!”

She winced a little at his words, but remained upright and defiant. “He’s a mage. So am I. His family is of noble blood, just like ours, only they remain wealthy even after all this war. And the marriage will let me safely move back to Kirkwall, our home.”

“You don’t need to marry anybody to move back to Kirkwall.”

“Just because the Circle is gone doesn’t mean I can walk the streets like a free woman,” Bethany snapped. “Things are different now, but they aren’t _that_ different! Emile understands that, and I hear that he’s, er, a _nice_ man.”

Carver just about dropped his satchel onto the carpeted floor. He had heard that Emile de Launcet was so desperate to bed a woman that he lied about being a blood mage just so he could have the thirty minutes of freedom necessary to buy one at the Hanged Man. He had also heard that the sorry prick was ugly enough to put a bleeding darkspawn to shame. The thought of such a man being with his sister made Carver’s stomach churn.

It was already bad enough that any Hawke sibling reunion would have Anders and his cats in attendance, but Emile de fucking Launcet?

This couldn’t be happening. Mere minutes ago, Carver was happily packing and thinking of the sweet notes of Merrill’s voice and her sparkling green eyes. Now he was the thinking of the infamous gap in Emile’s front teeth and his wretched mustache.

It was all so ghastly and unfathomable that Carver spoke without even thinking about it.

_“Why don’t you just marry Varric?”_

The Hawke twins stared at each other, perfect mirrors in their shock and embarrassment. As Bethany’s blush crept down her neck and up to her ears, Carver swallowed his discomfort and tried to explain himself.

“He doesn’t mind you being a mage, he’s rich enough, and Maker’s breath Bethany, at least we _know_ him! You want to live in Kirkwall so badly? Varric owns an--an entire _room_ in the Hanged Man!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bethany replied, finding her voice again. Only this time when she spoke, it was with a tender note that Carver hadn’t heard before. “While I’m in a worse position than I’d like, I have not sunk so low as to write our friends and beg them to marry me out of pity.”

“It wouldn’t be out of pity, he adores you.” Carver paused, searching his sister’s face for any reaction. “Certainly you can tell--I mean--in his letters--”

There was a visible crack in Bethany’s mask of confidence and poise. Whereas before she had been maintaining strong eye contact to show just how serious she was about her decision, now her eyes couldn’t settle on anything for longer than a moment. While she may have expected Carver to disagree with her, she appeared blindsided by the direction the conversation was taking, and had no quips prepared to get the discussion back on course.

When Bethany spoke again, it was with bitterness and resignation. “Exactly how dim do you think I am? Yes, I’ve noticed the flirting, but that’s all it is--harmless flirting. I can’t stake my future on...on a few pretty lines hidden in dozens of letters.”

“But you would stake it on rumors that Emile de Launcet is _nice!”_

If Bethany’s mask had been cracked before, now it was split open. Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes, and judging by trembling of her lip, it would not be long until they tumbled forth. Carver hardly knew what to say; it was Garrett’s job to comfort their sister when she cried, because he actually knew how to deal with emotional people. That was why everyone loved him so damn much.

But Garrett wasn’t there, he didn’t know what Carver knew, and he might never know the truth Carver now saw written plainly on their sister’s face: that Bethany had probably loved Varric in return all along, but she couldn’t-- _wouldn’t--_ act on it.

“I’ve thought and thought about this, Carver,” Bethany finally said. “I refuse to be a burden to you, Garrett, Sebastian, or _anyone else_ any longer. With a good marriage, I could have the security to protect myself and the power to help you two as well.” She shut her eyes, causing her brimming tears to finally roll down her cheeks. “That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

Bethany wiped her tears away with her dress sleeve and fled into her room.

Once she was gone, Carver's mind raced. Dreaming about Merrill and about their potential future together could wait. His sister and her incorrigible need to help everyone at her own expense had to stopped at all costs. Carver paced in his room, thinking.

He considered getting Garrett involved, but knew it would be no use. Carver could envision exactly what his older brother would say:

_“Mother eloped with a fugitive apostate, you’re mooning over an elven blood mage, and I live in the sewers with an abomination. If Bethany wants to be the only one of us to approach romance with any sense, then just let her do it.“_

Carver swore under his breath. Typical Garrett. He was ruining their lives, and he wasn’t even here!

But what if it was Varric she was marrying? Garrett would probably say something along the lines of:

“ _Great! All we have to do is convince Aveline to take a day off, lure Isabela and Fenris out of hiding with free wine, and tell Sebastian that Andraste was sighted dancing naked at the Hanged Man, and the whole gang can get back together.”_

Carver would be lying if the idea of the gang getting back together in Kirkwall once more didn’t fill him with great happiness. Before Garrett became Champion and the Hawke twins joined their respective orders, they were so poor that they hardly got to enjoy having a circle of friends. So many of their decisions were dominated by thoughts of survival, of protecting Mother and keeping various criminals off their backs. Now that they were free and somewhat safe, everyone they loved had been scattered across the continent. If there was a chance to reunite everyone, even just once, he wanted to take it.

Bethany, too, would want this. She treasured family above everything, and what was the Kirkwall gang to them if not a chaotic found family?

With the thought of family in mind, he sat at his desk and pulled out several sheets of paper. Carver couldn’t convince Bethany to change her mind, and Garrett probably wouldn’t bother, but Varric would know what to say. If he asked the dwarf for help, there was no way he’d refuse.

And if Varric actually did end up marrying Bethany, it could hardly be worse than Emile de Launcet. 

> _Varric,_
> 
> _Bethany’s self-sacrificing side is rearing its head, and you need to do something._
> 
> _She wants to marry Emile de Launcet! She has always believed she has to throw herself on her own bloody sword to solve our problems, but this is her worst idea yet._
> 
> _Please write and convince her there is another way. I don’t care what you do or say so long as it works. She really can’t wait another decade for you to seduce her._

Carver raised his quill from the page. Tonight, Bethany spoke as if she couldn’t wait even another day. How could he send a letter beseeching Varric for help when it would take at least a fortnight to receive a response? Bethany could be married by then! Carver didn’t know much about wedding arrangements, but if he was Emile’s parents and a pleasant, attractive woman like Bethany dropped out of the sky to wed him, he wouldn’t waste any time at all.

As he tapped his quill on the edge of the paper, Carver’s eyes traced the slant of his own handwriting, the curls on his y’s and g’s. Bethany had remarked that his handwriting was similar to Varric’s. Would it be so hard to imitate Varric’s hand and pen his own letter to Bethany? He had plenty of examples to refer to, and plenty of paper to practice on. If he was careful enough, would she even be able to tell the difference?

The more Carver thought about it, the more sensible the idea became. He was leaving in a few days to reunite with Merrill, so he couldn’t wait around in Starkhaven for Varric to send another letter. The moment he left, Bethany would probably set this whole wedding scheme in motion. Something had to be done before then. A forged letter would buy Carver more time. More time to do what, he wasn’t sure.

Carver knocked on the door adjoining their rooms and listened for his sister. When he heard nothing, he opened the door and saw the place was empty. Knowing his sister, she had probably scurried down to the Chantry to clear her head and find some solace in prayer. He snuck into Bethany’s empty room to extract three of Varric’s letters from inside her pillow case. Since they were children, she always hid everything precious to her right under her pillow.

Carver retreated into his own room, locked the door, and sat down at his desk. After a moment’s thought, he retrieved some wine and took a long swig straight from the bottle.

As if writing a love letter to Merrill hadn’t been difficult enough, Carver now had to write one to his own twin sister.


	2. Bethany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bethany falls into an emotional rut, she decides to take her destiny into her own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs concurrently with the prior Carver chapter. I starting writing it because I wanted to know why Bethany was behaving the way she was behaving, and then I got addicted to writing her.

> _Dear Varric,_
> 
> _I enjoyed your retelling of your exciting night amidst Orlesian royalty. It’s very kind of you to suggest I’d thrive in that setting, though to be truthful I haven’t felt very glamorous lately._
> 
> _Sebastian recently invited Carver and I to swim with him in his personal pool. We accepted, but I felt apprehensive because I didn’t own a swimming costume. Sebastian assured me that he would provide me one, and I thought all was well._
> 
> _Varric. He didn’t provide me a swimming costume. The Chantry did. I’m not sure how to describe the thing he gave me. Think of a blindingly white curtain with layers upon layers of sleeves and skirts. It covered me from my wrists, to my ankles, to my chin! Of course I wore it, it would be ungrateful not to. But when I got in the pool, all the fabric billowed out like an enormous tent. _
> 
> _I could’ve fit you and three other dwarves under my skirts and none would be the wiser. Carver said that I looked like Andraste drowned at sea on her wedding night. I slapped him with my wet sleeve for that one._
> 
> _~~I’m worri~~ I can tell Carver doesn’t really enjoy Starkhaven. I think he might leave soon. It will be ~~lonel~~ quieter without his company. Sebastian is a very busy man, and I rarely see him outside of Chantry services. _
> 
> _When I fled the Circle and Kirkwall, I thought my life would be_

Bethany nibbled on the feather of her quill, mulling over how to best describe her emotional state without causing her friend undue worry. She couldn’t keep scratching words out when she wrote too plainly.

> _different. I wake up every morning not knowing what the day will bring, but rather than the endless the possibilities exciting me, it feels_

Bleak. Lonesome. Monotonous.

Pointless.

> _unexciting. But do not worry, your letters remain the high point of my day whenever I receive them!_
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Your Sunshine_

When Bethany posted her letter with a palace messenger, it didn’t fill her with the sense of accomplishment and pleasure it usually did. She tended to share everything on her mind in her letters to Varric, but in recent weeks she found herself finding new and creative ways to keep her true thoughts from winding up on paper.

If she wrote honestly, what would she say? ‘Dear Varric, I’m becoming more bored with every passing moment?’ Or ‘Sometimes I really miss the Circle because there I at least felt like I had purpose?’ How would he ever respond to, ‘I think I’m starting to take your teasing seriously?’

Bethany actually had written letters full of those questions. They were all tossed in the fire.

If it was only boredom, she would be able to deal with it, but it was tinged with something else. Something like despair, but quieter. A creeping sense that something was missing from Bethany’s life, and she wouldn’t know what it was until it was out of her grasp.

When she returned to her room, Bethany heard an exasperated sigh through the door adjoining her quarters to Carver’s. He must be trying to write Merrill that love letter again. Carver really was a big sopping romantic on the inside, but he rarely had the opportunity or confidence to let it out. Merrill was a lucky girl.

Yearning twisted in Bethany’s chest. Truthfully, she was just as bad a romantic as her brother. If she ever received a love letter--a real, honest-to-Maker love letter--she’d melt in a puddle so quickly, she’d have to be mopped off the floor. Her letters from Varric toed the line, but she knew better than to read too deeply into his words. He probably wrote like that to everybody.

Bethany stood and headed towards Carver’s bedroom, wearing her best and brightest Nosey Twin Sister face. If she didn’t know how to handle her own dilemma, maybe she could help Carver solve his. For what better cure was there for a sad heart than to live vicariously through her twin?

* * *

 

“Bethany, tell me honestly, am I hopeless?”

“Yes, you are. There’s no curing it.”

“Talking to women never used to be this complicated.”

“Peaches wasn’t a very complicated girl.”

Rather than argue with his sister, Carver sighed with every ounce of his enormous body. Years with the templars made his already gargantuan proportions even more exaggerated, and it was getting harder for even Bethany to see any resemblance between them. Once when the Hawke twins attended some grand event with Sebastian, they were mistaken for a couple instead of twins. They didn’t speak for days afterwards.

Six years spent on opposite ends of the Gallows had made them into quite different people, and yet it was amazing how willingly Carver had opened up to his twin sister about Merrill. Maybe after secretly longing for so many years while surrounded by those who would do Merrill harm, it was too maddening to keep it to himself any longer. Or maybe Carver just didn’t trust anybody else in Starkhaven with a secret as closely guarded as loving a bloodmage.

At any rate, Bethany was glad to have her twin brother back. There were worse ways to bond than over love letters.

Today, they were talking on one of the many balconies adorning the palace. Bethany leaned against the balcony railing, angling to see the paper in Carver’s hand.

“You said you would show it to me,” she said. “You promised.”

“I know,” Carver replied miserably. He unfolded the paper to glance at his own writing, then cringed.

“Writing is meant to be read. How will you know if you’re getting better if you never show it to anyone?”

“Fine,” Carver said, shoving it into her hands. “Go on, read it. Then you’ll see.” 

With a scoffing roll of her eyes, Bethany started to read.

> _My dear Merrill,_
> 
> _I’ve tried writing this letter to you dozens of times. It’s not because I don’t like writing to you, but because I care very much about what you think. Your opinion matters to me more than anyone._
> 
> _Ever since I came to Starkhaven, I’ve felt like a piece of me was missing. At first I thought I was only homesick, but it’s not home I keep thinking of. It’s you. It’s your lovely laugh, your passion for your people and history, and the interesting way you look at all things. I keep thinking about finding your strand of twine and following it to the end, just to see if you’ll be there._
> 
> _I ~~think~~ The piece of me I left behind is the part that’s in love with you. _
> 
> _For years, it’s always been you I’ve dreamt of, you I’ve pined for. Just writing this out makes my heart swell within me. Maker, I miss you so badly. What a fool I was to leave. Starkhaven may be clean and sparkly, but it will never be as good as Kirkwall simply because you are not here._
> 
> _I do not expect a reply to this letter. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and I understand if you’ve f ~~ound som~~ moved on. I just want to write it out at least one time. _
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _Carver Hawke_

Bethany held the letter over her heart. “This is too precious,” she said with a sigh. Carver cast a pathetic look over the balcony railing as if he might leap over it and plunge into the canals below. “I’m serious. It’s a lovely letter. Merrill will swoon when she reads this.”

She stared down at her brother’s writing. There was something ironic in the fact that the only man she knew who actually wrote love letters anymore was her twin brother, the last person she would ever want to receive one from. No matter--she was happy for Carver. It must be amazing to feel so in love that it pours right out of you onto paper.

When Bethany tried to hand the letter back to her brother, he groaned that he didn’t want it and she should just throw it away. She just rolled her eyes and stowed the letter in her skirt pocket. She’d keep it for Carver until he stopped being an insecure tit.

“You truly are hopeless,” she said. “Come, let’s find some dinner.”

But her brother stopped her from leaving with a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Bethany, is there anyone you’re...” Carver’s voice trailed off and he cleared his throat with a surly cough. “It’s just at the Gallows, us templars frowned upon mages fraternizing with anybody. I never thought it was fair, but you always had so many friends at the Circle, you seemed alright. I thought you were alright! But now we’re here, and it’s mostly just the two of us all day long, and I’m not so sure...”

Her face became blank as she grasped what he was trying to say. “Are you asking me if I’m getting laid?”

“ _No,_ ” Carver said pointedly as his ears started to burn. “I’m asking if there’s anyone in your life that, you know,” he pantomimed a scribbling hand, “you _write_ to.”

“I write to Varric often,” Bethany offered.

This answer didn’t appear to make Carver very happy. “Right, him. Nobody else then? Not even an old Circle friend?”

“Not many of those left,” she said darkly, turning towards the balcony to look over the city. A rare few of her fellow mages survived the violence in Kirkwall, and she hadn’t kept in touch with any of them. Should she have? Bethany didn’t even know where they lived now, except for Emile. They weren’t really friends, but maybe she should reach out and see how he was faring? In this turbulent, war-torn world, mages had to stick together.

“What’s this all about?” Bethany asked, suspicion creeping into her voice. “You’ve never asked me about my friends before.”

Carver pressed his lips into a thin line and appeared to come to a decision. “I’ll just get out with it. I want to go back to Kirkwall, but I won’t if it means leaving you here by yourself. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Bethany reeled backwards until her back hit the balcony railing. Carver leave Starkhaven, already? She thought he was moving towards that decision, but this was so soon! They had hardly just started becoming real siblings again, and here he was plotting to leave.

“What about your letter to Merrill?” she asked. “You wrote so many nice things.”

“And I can say them all to her in-person,” Carver said with a shrug. “You’re the one I’m worried about. What will become of you? Who will take care of you?”

Though she had been thinking along the exact same lines, hearing it from her brother made Bethany flush with anger. “I’ve survived worse than the loss of your company,” she said flatly. “I will take care of myself, like I always have.”

Bethany stormed back inside without another word.

Later, when Carver had gone to bed and Bethany was left to her own devices, she slipped the love letter to Merrill in an envelope and addressed it to the alienage. It would be off to Kirkwall first thing in the morning, and her stubborn twin would finally have to act on his own words.

Carver, take care of _her?_ Please.

* * *

 

“Lady Felicia, you really are an ungrateful and stupid cow,” Bethany said with shameless venom.

Lady Felicia Whitingale could not respond, for she wasn’t a real person, but the heroine of a cheap romance Bethany had bought in the Starkhaven market. A purchase Bethany now deeply regretted.

According to the bookseller, this novel had everything Bethany wanted from a story--extravagant masquerades, star-crossed lovers, thrilling fight scenes, just like the popular Tethras serials! And when she began to the book, it got off to a promising start.

Lady Felicia Whitingale was a young and beautiful heiress with dozens of suitors asking after her hand. Despite having all the choice in the world, Lady Felicia only had eyes for the brooding guard captain assigned to protect her. So far, very good.

But then Felicia’s older brother is killed in battle, making her marriage more vital than ever to her family’s survival. Instead of picking the passable love interest who was a little dim but would keep her family safe and secure for the rest of their days, Felicia continued to resist him in favor of the guard captain--who honestly patronized and insulted Felicia more than wooed her, in Bethany’s opinion!

Three hundred pages into this crap, Felicia shouted at her mother that she didn’t love her anymore, and Bethany was ready to throw the entire book out her bedroom window.

Instead, Bethany set the book down on her bedside table and walked to the vanity inside her Starkhaven chambers. When she sat down, her eyes glanced across her own reflection--Maker her dark hair had gotten long now--before falling upon a small portrait of her mother in her youth sitting right beside Bethany’s hairbrush.

It was a small thing that fit in the palm of Bethany’s delicate hands, yet it was powerful enough to send a pang of longing and grief throughout her entire being. She picked the portrait up and ran her fingers over the smiling face that was so similar to her own.

What was it that Lady Felicia had spat at her mother? “I will not remain in a family that will only deny my heart’s desire?” Selfish little twat. When Felicia’s mother died, she would regret saying such a thing. When her family spiraled into poverty, she would only have herself to blame.

Leandra had certainly blamed herself for the fall of the illustrious Amells, though she had refused to say so aloud out of principal and pride.

Bethany forgot Lady Felicia and her frustrating choices as she thought instead of her mother.

If she lived in a world where she had the choice and Leandra had asked her to marry someone for the sake of the family, she would have said yes. She would _not_ have turned around and told her mother that she hated her, even if she didn’t like the person she was supposed to marry. Not that any of it mattered now. Leandra never got the chance to witness the lengths of Bethany’s loyalty and love, and she never would.

Bethany set her mother’s portrait face down on the vanity table, but remained sitting at the mirror as she considered what to do next. Perhaps write a reply to one of her letters, focus on something new to chase away all these unpleasant thoughts.

She opened Varric’s latest letter to remind herself of its contents.

> _My Sunshine,_
> 
> _That swimsuit sounds more like a cruel and unusual punishment than an outfit, but I’m sure you pulled it off better than anyone else could. Allow me to suggest a small correction: you actually would’ve only been able to fit me underneath those billowing skirts, because I would’ve told the other guys to get lost. _
> 
> _I’m sorry if things are gloomy over there in Starkhaven. Remember that even the blackest clouds have silver linings, and sunshine always pierces through the fog. If there’s something on your mind, I’m always ready to lend an ear._
> 
> _Speaking of silver linings, I’m sure you saw the literal silver included in this letter. Sunshine, you have champagne taste on gruel coin. Treat yourself to something nice on me. Perhaps a swimsuit you don’t hate? Or a new book? Don’t reply that all the best books are mine--believe me, I’m aware. A new story might be just the thing to cheer you up._
> 
> _The sun will shine again, I’m sure of it. Until then, take care._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Varric_

The last time she read the letter, Bethany merely lamented that she spent Varric’s silver on such an unforgivably tedious book. This time, she took more notice of the concerned tone behind his jokes, the talk about Starkhaven’s gloomy clouds and dwindling sunshine.

First Carver, and now Varric! Her listlessness must be more obvious than she imagined. Between her brother insinuating that she needs more friends and her friend implying that he’s worried about her, Bethany had done a piss poor job at putting on a brave face for the people she loved.

Bethany suddenly felt furious with herself. How dare she mope while living in an enormous castle, dressed in fine clothes, fed wonderful food, and in constant contact with people who cared about her? She had never been in a more secure place in her entire life, and yet here she was worrying friends and family over stupid feelings that don’t matter.

She was no better than stupid Lady Felicia, ignoring all the good in her life because it didn’t align perfectly with her heart’s desires. 

“I can’t go on like this,” Bethany said aloud to no one.

Almost as if the Maker himself answered her plea, a plan formed in Bethany’s mind. She looked deeply at her reflection in the mirror. A pretty face like hers could open doors, doors that would otherwise be closed to a penniless mage from a fallen noble house. It was the card she had never played, the one thing she had that her brothers didn’t.

Carver would be upset when he found out, but it wasn’t really his decision, was it? He already made his own choice to leave her behind. It was only fair that Bethany move forward, too.

Without hesitation, Bethany found a fresh sheet of paper to write a new letter. Before she began writing, she stowed her letter from Varric out of sight before the thought of him riddled her with doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment here or say hi at lucyrne.tumblr.com. I look forward to hearing what you think :)


End file.
